Seagulls will cry, but we won’t hear them…

Lately I haven’t been sure if its the fact I’m getting older or there are more things in the world going wrong; sickness, death, war. It seems every time I turn around I hear of someone I know suddenly diagnosed with some horrible disease, or dying unexpectedly. I believe the list is endless and this can’t be good for us or our moral as the human race.

But I have a confession. I get like this, at this time of the year. The days are shorter, greyer, colder and wetter. They’re actually all things I love and not the reasons behind my mood.

This Sunday it will be three years since my mate, Ned, died from breast cancer. I’ve written about her before, so I won’t bore you with the details, other than to say she was passionate about breast and prostate cancer awareness. And all she wanted to do was save one person’s life.

Today, it’s two years since my second cousin, Kim, was diagnosed with breast cancer. She’s written about her story here too. And thankfully she is well, but she said to me on Facebook today, she would keep fighting the good fight for Ned. Appreciate it, Kimmy. 🙂

Another friend, Bev, died three years ago in March, from breast cancer. Her fight was long and horrific but with peace and acceptance. Something I will forever be in awe of.

Ned loved the beach – especially the beach above, which is our ‘local’, Thomas River. And as much as I enjoy the beach too, it’s one of those places you can come, spend time and within a short time of you leaving, there is no evidence that you’ve ever been there. The waves wash away our footprints, the seagulls will cry, but we won’t hear them. It is a lonely, wild and makes me stop and think about the gift of life every time I am there. Without fail.

We are so fragile but so often we take life for granted. It only takes one breath and lives change. Because of this I want to ask you a favour…

Rainbows can signal new beginnings…

On Sunday, can you please check your breasts? On Monday, can you please make a doctors appointment to ask about prostate cancer?

I would rather be laughing and sharing rainbows with you all on Facebook, Twitter or my blog than hearing you are unwell. Please, for Ned. And if she does help save your life, I hope you’ll let me know too.

Fleur, I feel your pain having lost a dear friend 3 years ago to BC. She survived five years after surgery, fighting, even after her husband walked away. Becasue i wanted her to have a HEA somehow, she lives on as a fabulous, fiesty character in my novel.
Missing Miss Pammy

This was extraordinarily beautiful. I have become very aware of the fact that we are here for a time, and then…we are here no more. We have a limited span of days to do what we want to do. We can never be quite sure about when the days run out. We must look at the days we have, and do the best that we can with them, to make a difference, to experience, to love, to give and live.

I have had breast cancer, and I have never once had the feeling that it is beaten. I’ve been (ironically) NED (which means in this case, No Evidence of Disease) for 3 years and one month. I’ve stopped being fearful. I am sensible and look at it square on. I had a disease that I have watched others die from. It could come back. I can’t do anything about that, but it makes me mindful of my days, and I try to use them wisely.

This is beautifully put and so true, I wish everyone would go and get checked. My father is just home from hospital this week after having his prostate removed, his was found early and we are all praying the radical surgery is going to be the end of his experience with this disease. My Aunty, (dads sister) has had BC and a secondary tumour also, she will forever have both eyes on the lookout for its return. My mums sister is on the road to recovery after bowel C, rocked her world, it was discovered early due to a random test arriving in the mail!
We are all touched in some way by this disease and our best chance at winning the fight is, as you said, to check and be checked. One hour out of our busy lives to see the doctor, or even 10mins to check breasts, is worth it.

Thanks Fleur… my Dad is in the final stages of the horrendous fight of what started as prostate cancer and has now invaded every corner of his being… thanks for reminding people… and I too will make a date with my breasts on Sunday